#32 table for 2, name of party? "Sucka"

Time to get your climb on. There are many ways to get up here, all Good. There are many ways to leave from here, but only one way to get down.




Have you seen that vigilante man?

I hear he makes a mean breakfast. All's I can say is: you're gonna want to set a while, but this spot is more suited to the end of the day than the beginning. Maybe bring the stove and some eggses, cook up a little dinner and watch the sun go down.


Sorry the box is crumpled. I had to do that to get it to fit in my musette.




So. All my fancy Brooks saddlebags are breaking. For reals, 2 out of 3. The bag supports on the Brooks saddles are square edged/thin enough to eat up the straps. I find this very disappointing. You'd figure the limey bastards would make their designed-to-be-paired-products compatible. Nope, not if you carry so much as a tube, a patchkit, a mini-tool.

But today I outsmarted them.

#22 - "Blew the whole damn thing apart"

La Mirada. I just happened by this place for the first time on Saturday, and I said to myself, "aha!"

A little Monterey-style history about La Mirada:
-blah blah blah Steinbeck blah blah blah Hendrix burning his guitar blah blah blah Jazz Festival blah blah blah Rich people swinging their rods at little white balls blah blah blah

Pretty damn arty for a camera phone

Totally accidental arty seat tube / redwood trunk alignment

Believe me, there is nothing I like more than a non-challenge

The loot: sweet tartan flask, some Hamms'er gels, Pebble Beach Concours D'Elegance hat (local dog, pony, old car and trophy wife show), and a companion piece to my Super-Large SRAM vest, in a slimming blue and orange.

Stay off the tip

You just know I had to get arty with it. This piece represents Philosophy...Man's search for faith...that kinda shit.

Then again, we all know when the real art show is coming to town....

Good to get back in the game, I know we've been slipping on the old hide-the-can. Tomorrow's trip to Minneapolis will no doubt reap some VERY fine treats to plant upon my return. Setting the bar high, hoping for a sweatshirt of a Loon howling at the moon.